


A Minor Slip-Up

by PhiraLovesLoki



Series: Captain Swan Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Injury Recovery, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After injuring himself, Killian has to rely on Emma to take care of him, whether he likes it or not. Captain Swan one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Minor Slip-Up

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for an anonymous commenter on Tumblr, who requested a fic in which either Killian or Emma breaks their arm or leg, and the other one takes care of them.

“Swan, this is just humiliating.”

“I know. Right now, this is as much as I can do. At least you’re only stuck in your cast for a week instead of a month.”

“Aye, I suppose you’re right. But still, it does wound a man’s ego to have to be treated like an infant.” Swan sighed and gave him a pleading look. “Sorry, love. Sorry. I’m trying.”

“I know you are, Killian,” she replied patiently. “All right, do you need anything else at the moment? I’m going to take a shower.”

That piqued his interest. “Want some company, love?”

“Were you listening to anything Whale said? You can’t get your cast wet.”

“What? Then how the bloody hell am I supposed to bathe all week?”

“We’ll handle it,” she said insistently, putting her hand on his upper arm the way she always did when she was trying to comfort him. “Look, it’s just a week. All right?”

“All right,” he said, conceding defeat. She gave him a reassuring smile before heading to the bathroom.

It had been his own damn fault, really, that he’d broken his wrist and forearm, and his own damn fault that he’d done so in such an embarrassing manner. Swan had gone out of town for a few days with Henry and his schoolmates (some sort of school-related trip to a field? She hadn’t been terribly clear), and while he most assuredly had missed her company (and Henry’s), he’d been enjoying having the apartment to himself. He’d gone out for drinks at the Rabbit Hole with Robin, Will, and Davey, and then slept in late the next day; he’d eaten an inordinate amount of unhealthy snack food; and he’d gotten intensely drawn into a theatrical serial on the Netflix called _Lost._

He’d ended his latest self-indulgent evening by taking a luxurious bath, which he’d drawn using as many scented oils and salts he could find in Swan’s not-terribly-secret stash. To his dismay, Mary Margaret had decided to stop by to pick up her jacket that she’d left at the apartment a few nights earlier; he’d forgotten to lock the door, and she’d stepped in after knocking a few times and announcing her presence.

While he hadn’t been certain that she might wander past the wide-open bathroom door and see her daughter’s beau completely nude in the tub, the thought did cross his mind, and he’d tried to exit his bath and wrap himself in a towel as quickly as possible. As he’d slipped on the water that had spilled over the sides of the tub, he’d thrown his arms forward to try to catch himself on the sink or some other protuberance, and had instead landed with sickening force on his right hand.

His first thought had been that, in trying to avoid an embarrassing situation, he’d ironically found himself in a more humiliating one. Fortunately, Mary Margaret seemed undisturbed by the sight of his bare arse and had immediately covered him with a towel, helped him up, and called Swan, who had been on her way home with Henry.

For the sake of his pride, Swan had told Dr. Whale that _she_ had been the one taking a bath, and that he had slipped on the floor after simply dropping in to have a brief conversation with her. But it still didn’t change the fact that, even with Swan’s magic healing him significantly, he was stuck in a cast for a week. He’d essentially gone from having one hand to having none.

Swan had already had to dress him (mercifully, he had some clothing in this realm, mostly for sleep and leisure, that were without buttons or clasps, and therefore easy to wear) and clean his teeth for him. Meanwhile, he was going to have to let his facial hair grow out, which perhaps wasn’t the worst part, but it did make him feel particularly unkempt. But they had just determined that it was too difficult for him to feed himself, and _now_ he was learning that he’d have to forgo bathing as well.

Even when the Crocodile had taken his left hand, all those years ago, he hadn’t felt _this_ helpless.

He heard the sound of the shower shutting off, and soon, Swan stepped out of the washroom in her robe, with her hair wrapped up in a towel. “Okay, lunch. What can I get you? Finger foods?” She chuckled at her own joke.

“I don’t know, love. What about that medicinal gel … substance?”

“Jell-O?” she asked; he nodded. “Killian, they give that to patients in the hospital because it’s easy on the stomach. It’s not actually medicine.”

At least _that_ had finally been cleared up for him. “Well, whatever you feel comfortable feeding me,” he said, defeated.

She frowned at him thoughtfully before heading into the kitchen. Meanwhile, he was able to manipulate the buttons on the television control using the tip of his hook; he might as well distract himself with the fate of those poor survivors of Oceanic flight 815.

Swan took an awfully long time in the kitchen. By the time she returned to the living room, he was nearing the end of the episode and his stomach was growling ferociously. “I take it you’re hungry,” she said, and he looked up at her.

She was carrying a tray, on which she’d placed a large bowl, one of their fancy occasion napkins (for everyday dining, she typically insisted on using disposable ones), a fork, a glass of water with a plastic straw, and a small plate with a large chocolate chip cookie on it. Before he could even see what was in the bowl, the scent reached his nostrils.

She’d made him his favorite dish in this realm: macaroni and cheese. Henry explained that many people used an inferior recipe, while Swan always made hers from scratch, and that hers was perfect. He was inclined to agree; the version of the dish at Granny’s wasn’t half as good. “Swan, you didn’t have to do this,” he said gently.

“I wanted to,” she said. “I added some spinach and tomatoes to it. I figured you’d might as well get a serving of veggies while we’re at it.” She placed the tray on the table in front of the sofa and sat down beside him.

As she sat, he lifted his busted arm so he could lay it across her shoulders. “Love, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“What are you talking about?” The confusion on her face was genuine.

“I did this to myself,” he reminded her. “I’ve been complaining and whining like a child about it since it happened. Bloody hell, you’ve barely been home a day and instead of welcoming you back to our home by having the place sparkling clean, or by having a bouquet of roses for you, I’ve simply given you more chores to take care of. Myself included. You deserve better than this.”

She shook her head. “Killian, we’ve been through this. I love you. I’m going to take care of you because I care about you. Besides, it’s not like you hurt yourself while committing some sort of atrocity. It was an accident—you slipped and fell. It doesn’t matter how avoidable it was. I’m still going to take care of you.”

“But why bother with all this fuss?” he asked, gesturing at the tray with his hook.

She shrugged. “I wanted to. I like having someone to take care of. I like feeling needed. Besides, I know there’s no way you’re going to finish _all_ that mac and cheese. So I might have had an ulterior motive.”

It was unusual for him to be rendered speechless, but Swan managed to do it every so often. How could he have ever gotten so lucky? There was a woman—a woman whose beauty and strength and goodness were beyond compare—who had chosen him, a broken, angry shell of a man—a _villain_. She’d made him whole again, and reminded him that he was capable of more than just seething with anger and helping only himself.

And she cared so much for him that she didn’t seem remotely irritated that she was going to have to spoon feed him like a babe for the next week.

“I love you, darling,” he said. It was all he could think to say.

“I know,” she replied as she shoveled up a mouthful of macaroni and cheese onto the fork. “Now, open up.”


End file.
